


Only Duty Calls

by xbritomartx



Series: The LBD-verse [5]
Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Megalomania
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-11-02 00:04:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20553827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xbritomartx/pseuds/xbritomartx
Summary: The Custodian likes Contessa's face.





	Only Duty Calls

**Author's Note:**

> CONTENT NOTE: While no archive warnings apply, this oneshot depicts the emotional abuse of a young child with an emotionally distant adoptive parent, and it plays it as a farce.

Cassidy understood and appreciated power in the classically defined sense of "Do unto others." But however much she relished exercising control in that respect—and as secretary to the head of the applied research department at Coriolis, she had many opportunities to do so—it was her particular delight to force others to do unto themselves.

"And the third week of January you will be in Paris presenting a paper on the viability of modified microorganisms in extraterrestrial environments."

"There was something else," Doctor Sarr said. "On the fourteenth?"

"I believe you are thinking of Contessa's birthday, Doctor."

The Doctor took a longer than usual time to respond. She was probably feeling slightly uncomfortable. "She’s turning eighteen?" she asked at last.

"Seventeen, Doctor," Cassidy replied, gazing at the square on the calendar that she had personally marked _Contessa’s 18th_.

The Doctor wouldn't drop out of a conference, which was why Cassidy had found one for her to participate in that week; she was similarly booked for field testing a strain of carbon-eating microfauna in New Jersey the week of Contessa's high school graduation. But if she were aware it was an important birthday, she’d approximate the ability to feel guilt long enough to schedule something with Contessa irrespective of the date.

"I would be able to take her out to eat," Cassidy suggested, after a few moments of silence. "Ensure the day concludes with a fitting celebration."

Doctor Sarr leapt at the proffered escape route. "Please. And convey my apologies. Double the budget for her present and make sure it's something meaningful."

"Of course, Doctor."

When Doctor Sarr ended the call, Cassidy called Contessa.

"Doctor Sarr would like to celebrate your eighteenth birthday over dinner. Spago, 1900."

"Thank you. Please let the Doctor know I'll be there."

Cassidy hung up and smiled. She didn't love Contessa, but she didn't hate her, either. She was simply a giant red button that Cassidy was compelled to push, and had been since the day that Doctor Sarr had returned home from one of her disaster relief projects with a bedraggled orphan in tow. Others might have schlepped back a more reasonable souvenir, like a snowglobe or an exotic sexually transmitted disease, but not Doctor Sarr. She was an extraordinary woman.

Cassidy knew that, respected that, and accepted all the eccentricities that came with that; but she knew just as well that her employer was completely unequipped to handle such a desperate and fragile child. The Doctor had never had a long-term lover, a pet, or even a particularly treasured possession, and Cassidy knew that whatever paroxysm of empathy had seized her in the moment she'd bought a plane ticket to the United States for this girl wouldn't last—indeed, had likely already passed.

The opposite was true for Contessa, who had clearly imprinted on her newfound parent and followed her around with a disgusting eagerness to please that fell just short of complete self-abnegation. It wasn't just that she worshiped the ground Doctor Sarr walked on; it was that she also worshiped the laptop Doctor Sarr wrote on, the bed Doctor Sarr slept on, and the toilet Doctor Sarr sat on. It took an instant for Cassidy to take the measure of this utterly pathetic urchin, and Cassidy decided in that same instant to fuck with her.

An opportunity presented itself one rainy day less than a month after Contessa's arrival. Cassidy was in the lobby outside her office mocking one of the handful of plants she kept in perpetual misery, gloating over it as she dribbled a meager ration of water into its cracked soil. She berated it for its ineffectual resistance and its contemptible efforts to cling to a miserable existence. The plants couldn't hear her crooning at them about their lingering deaths, nor could they perceive her taunting them about how she could keep them alive and in agony for months and there was nothing they could do to stop her, but she was confident they could _feel _the message.

When Cassidy concluded her monologue, she noticed that Contessa had snuck in while she'd been crowing over her captives. Her only goal seemed to be to stare at the door beyond which Doctor Sarr worked, but Cassidy was extremely irritated; she preferred to be seen as often as she was heard. She glared at the back of Contessa's head from behind her sunglasses, stashed her tiny blue watering can behind her victim du jour, and switched her text-to-speech settings to French. "You don't have her permission to be here."

She could have achieved less effect with a slap. Contessa jerked around to face her and her expression moved from hopeful to abashed to ashamed in less than a second.

"I will allow it today, but you will need to wait on my authorization before you enter in the future."

"J'ai compris."

"Would you like to do something for her?"

The child nodded so vigorously Cassidy thought her head might pop off. Unfortunately, it did not.

"The Doctor likes frappuccinos. I will print out directions to Starbucks."

Contessa seized the directions, which were in English and would take her to the furthest Starbucks in walking distance, and was off like a shot.

When she returned forty minutes later, she was exultant but soaked. Rainwater cascaded from her drenched clothes down her legs and over her shoes, which squelched as she ran in. Strings of black hair clung to her chalky face, giving her a distinctly creature-from-the-well look. The cardboard container containing the four jars she'd procured with her own money was saturated with water and on the verge of falling apart. She was untidy, and Doctor Sarr did not approve of untidiness.

"Contessa has something for you," Cassidy said over the intercom. "She considers it important."

The Doctor emerged after a few minutes. "Thank you," she said, frowning at the icy, sweet, barely coffee-inspired beverage. Then she turned the frown on her charge and stared at her, doubtlessly attempting to determine how she had gotten so wet in the journey to a coffee shop that was just across the street. "Don't play in the rain, Contessa."

She disappeared back into her office, leaving both the coffee and Contessa behind. The girl fled and did not attempt to return for more than a fortnight. Cassidy made sure Doctor Sarr observed her cleaning up the dirty water without complaint, then took the abandoned frappuccinos for herself.

As the years passed, it became clear that there was a gap between what Contessa desired and what Doctor Sarr was capable of providing. Cassidy expanded her influence to fill that space herself. She cultivated Contessa's insecurity with all the care and attentiveness she withheld from her perennials, ferns, and bamboo. By the time she started high school, Contessa's anxieties had matured and blossomed into neuroses.

It was also around this time that Contessa found a way to bypass Cassidy. Doctor Sarr mentioned that a board member was giving her particular difficulty about an upcoming vote; he was abruptly hospitalized and missed the meeting. A reporter threatened to write an exposé on what was really happening in the basement at Coriolis, but ended up moving to Branson before the story could be run. When a supplier threatened to cut off deliveries of vital chemicals due to sudden onset ethical concerns, he found himself fired and replaced the next day. The Doctor was thrilled, or something like it.

Cassidy didn't notice the pattern for an embarrassingly long time—in fact, it took Contessa confessing to her role in each of these events for her realize what had happened. Rather than try to undo the fact her target had found a way to get consistent positive attention, Cassidy did her best to ensure that felonies remained its only potential source.

When it came to ordinary life, the Doctor expected to be told about important things and Contessa expected to be asked about them. Again and again Cassidy chose to exacerbate their problems rather than alleviate them; when Contessa took up cross country and jujitsu as her obligatory pre-college extracurriculars, Cassidy directed her to give her a copy of her race and tournament schedules with the implicit promise she'd pass it on to the Doctor. Rather than make good on that promise, she would show up two or three times a semester herself, pick a central position in the stands or the audience where she’d be impossible to miss in her headscarf and sunglasses, and fail to acknowledge Contessa unless she lost.

On New Year's Day, which Contessa was spending with her friend and accomplice rather than the Doctor, Cassidy called her again. "Doctor Sarr has been forced to cancel your previous birthday dinner reservation. She will now meet you at Urasawa at 2130."

There was the barest hesitation before Contessa replied. "Thank you. Please let the Doctor know I'll be there."

Cassidy was laughing so hard her cheeks hurt. She had this planned out down to the hour; a little under two weeks and she would break her. Contessa hated Japanese food and she hated fish (convincing her that Doctor Sarr was a pescatarian had been a high point of 2015), and this Japanese restaurant specialized in seafood. She would spend the remaining time before her birthday psyching herself up to endure this, at which point Cassidy would cancel again.

When the day arrived, she sent a message to Contessa from the Doctor's number shortly after 2030.

_Report to the study immediately._

According to her phone's location data, Contessa was on the other side of town from Doctor Sarr's residence and consequently nowhere near the study. She was at the restaurant, having arrived several hours early to allow herself enough time for a panic attack or three.

Cassidy had also spent time preparing for the evening, and when Contessa arrived in the study—late and pretending not to be flustered and out of breath—she found a tablet with an active Skype call and a bowl of lobster bisque waiting for her.

"I'm sorry you're late," Cassidy said. "The food isn't warm anymore, but I suppose we can make do."

Contessa stared at the lobster bisque, then at the screen. She sat down.

"It's fine," she said. "Not a problem," she added. "Thank you," she finished.

Cassidy positioned a textpad window at the bottom corner of the screen and began to type.

_2133: Contessa arrives and deems quality of food acceptable._

"You're taking minutes," Contessa said.

"Doctor Sarr is sincerely regretful she was unable to spend this special day with you. Of course I will convey all particulars of our meeting to her."

"Of course," Contessa said. "Thank you."

"I wasn't sure if you would make it, so please allow me a moment to set things up in accordance with the Doctor's wishes."

Contessa's eyes flicked down to her watch_._

Cassidy stood up. Resting against her desk was the corporate portrait of the Doctor, formidable in her crisp white lab coat. She’d nicked it from the foyer. She propped it against the arms of a chair and angled it downwards so it loomed over the web camera.

"Speak to the portrait as you would to her," she said.

There was a silence as Contessa struggled to find the appropriate words with which to greet a professionally taken matte headshot that she was expected to treat as Doctor Sarr, who she was in turn expected to treat as her mother.

“Good evening, Doctor,” she managed. “You look nice.”

Cassidy almost fell out of her chair. There was a real possibility that she would die due to laughter-induced asphyxiation tonight, but it would be worth it. This evening was to be her magnum opus. "Happy birthday, Contessa.”

"Thank you, Cassidy . . . Doctor,” she amended, watching the screen avidly as one might watch their favorite soap.

_2137: Contessa acknowledges receipt of birthday felicitations. _

"The Doctor left a particular message." Cassidy glanced down at her clipboard, pretending to check a note—not that Contessa could see her. The paper was covered in doodles of distressed tulips. "She wishes to remind you to register to vote."

Contessa had already registered to vote earlier that day. Independent, which was deliciously ironic. "Of course.”

"Do not register as an organ donor. Doctor Sarr wishes to retain absolute control over your remains in the event that you perish."

Contessa had already registered as an organ donor when she'd registered to vote and updated her driver's license earlier that day. "Of course," she said. It was only Cassidy's long experience watching Contessa's face that led her to catch the line of worry that briefly creased her forehead.

"Lastly, the money for your annual gift has been deposited into your account. The Doctor has informed me she wishes it to be spent on, and I quote, 'something meaningful.'"

"Thank you. I will."

_2139: Personalized birthday messages delivered to Contessa._

There was silence.

"I'm sorry you couldn't make it," Contessa said. She sounded like she was being choked.

Cassidy changed the filter, and the portrait was suddenly cast in a reddish tint.

The shock was too much for even Contessa's self-discipline. Her eyes widened, her cheeks flushed, and she began to apologize to the portrait, tripping over her own words in her panic. "Of course, I'm sure you could have—if you'd wanted to—"

Cassidy darkened the red.

"Not that this isn't exactly the same," Contessa finished, and stuffed her spoon into her mouth to avoid further faux pas.

Contessa hated cold food as much as she hated seafood, and watching her pinched face as she forced the combination down her gullet yielded a panoply of pleasures—enough to make Cassidy relent and restore the screen to its original condition.

_2146: Contessa apologizes for imposition on Doctor Sarr's time. _

"Your graduation is approaching," Cassidy said. "I want you to order yourself a watch to commemorate the occasion."

"Thank you," Contessa said to her empty bowl. "I will."

"Will you be the valedictorian?" Cassidy asked. Having checked with the school beforehand, she knew full well what the answer was.

“I’m the salutatorian,” Contessa said, not looking up.

“Oh? Is that a step above valedictorian?”

"Below."

_2148: Contessa reveals she has taken second place in her high school career._

Then she said nothing, knowing that silence was the equivalent of handing a shovel to Contessa.

Sure enough, after another thirty seconds, she began to dig.

"I missed it by three points," she said. "Monica Turner arranged for extra credit in English class, but I was in Japan the day the teacher announced the assignment. I was training and helping out with the API incident, re—remember? I mean, of course you remember. You wouldn't forget an operation. Or maybe you never had to know it because it wasn't important, but I took care of it. Not to overstate things . . . And then when I got back, there was that business with the rubella vaccinations. And I had a track and field meet the day it was due. I placed first in the 100 meter hurdles. Second in the javelin throw."

Cassidy transcribed this word for word, stutter for stutter, pause for pause. The longer Contessa went on, the redder she got and the more care Cassidy had to take when she typed, lest the laughter racking her body result in a typo. She had to appear professional, after all.

"Well," Cassidy said when Contessa finally wound down. "I allocated half an hour to this discussion, and I have spent thirty-one minutes here. Please excuse me."

Contessa bade the picture farewell and fled.

Cassidy saved her notes and video file, but she didn't send them to Doctor Sarr. Instead, she sent them to her personal email address. While they were downloading to her phone so she could view and relive her triumph whenever and wherever she wished, she replaced the portrait.

Then she sifted through the mansion's security camera feeds until she found a trail of discarded clothes outside the gym. The jacket, tie, shoes, socks, belt, pants, and crinkled oxford shirt led to Contessa, who was sitting on a weight bench in her undershirt and staring blankly in the direction of the wall-length mirror.

At length she got up, dressed herself in workout clothes, pulled her hair back, and got on the treadmill. She ran for a very long time, and Cassidy watched her until she stopped to vomit.


End file.
